


Leave of Absence

by King_Latifah



Category: Zootopia
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Gen, Grief, i don't even know what I'm doing anymore tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-05
Updated: 2017-04-05
Packaged: 2018-10-14 23:40:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10546318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/King_Latifah/pseuds/King_Latifah
Summary: "There was also nothing uncharacteristic about him when he bled out, reeking of the still-drying paint soaking his fur through. Angry, wild, furiously self-righteous, eyes that told her she would have done it too. But even so. It was precisely and unmistakably him."





	

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be this long Nick-centered angst fic in which he murders like everyone but oh well lmao that's what u get when you choose fic over sleep

The discharge of Judy's police gun rings out through the city, cutting through the tranquil silence of night like a thorn. The criminal's down in an instant, spasming against the snow-covered ground. Blood pours immediately from his stomach wound. 

Judy looms over him, a lone conquerer. The rest of the force spectates quietly, protected, from behind the doors of their police cars.

A muzzle collar is strapped tightly to his snout, the same muzzle he's attached to his many victims, and his fur is all painted black. He lets out a piteous groan, moves his paw tenderly to the flesh of his bleeding stomach. For the first time, Judy catches him in the eyes, and she swallows hard against the terror that rises like bile in her throat. They're familiar. 

She doesn't want to say it. "Nick?" 

The criminal says nothing. His eyes are wild with an unreadable expression, horror and pity and apology and rage all alight in his eyes at once. In the muzzle collar, he snaps at her.

Then, more resolute: " _Nick_." 

\- - - 

Understandably, it's a dark day for the force. Even the most cynical of the officers couldn't believe it, one of their own thrashing in his handcuffs on the ground until he took his last breath through a muzzle, but they bore it with a grimace and told themselves it was only a matter of time. Nick's chair is taken out of the conference room with a silent air of grieving.

Bogo grants Judy two weeks off.

\- - - 

She helps her parents out somberly the whole time she's on vacation. She eats twice what she usually would, gorging on muffins and chips and Gideon's carrot cake, frosting painfully the exact color of Nick's fur. 

She's given up on guessing why he did it. 

She finds herself unable to let it go, spending nights awake in a room full of snoring brothers and sisters, reviewing every conversation they had, every word he spoke, every move he made. She was obsessed with him— surely she would have noticed something was off. She wonders if her admiration may have blinded her.

But no, she tells herself, I would have noticed. Should have noticed. He was not angry, had no outbursts, never could hurt a soul save for the jokes that sometimes went too far. Even towards the last day before the raid, he was the same Nick as ever, even knowing it was himself they were catching. There was nothing uncharacteristic about him on the job. 

(There was also nothing uncharacteristic about him when he bled out, reeking of the still-drying paint soaking his fur through. Angry, wild, furiously self-righteous, eyes that told her she would have done it too. But even so. It was precisely and unmistakably him.)

\- - - 

"Sometimes, I have nightmares about what happened with the Service Rangers." On their hotel bed looking over 47th Street, Nick stares at the ceiling with his hands folded behind his head.

Judy digs a spoonful of ice cream from the tub they are sharing. Nick's spoon is untouched, which Judy finds odd, but she doesn't pry. "But Nick, you're a cop now! Service Rangers can blow you. You're like, a million leagues above them right now." 

"Yeah," he says, smiling, though Judy thinks he may be faking it. "Yeah, you're right."

He finishes off the ice cream, later.

\- - - 

She knows they mean well by it, but every time they ask after her in that pitying tone of theirs, Judy cannot help but be annoyed. It seems so patronizing, all "honey" and "sweetie" and dancing around his name like suddenly it's a curse. It only harkens back to the days when his name was a blessing. 

She despises it, but relents anyway. "I'm doing okay, mom. Just. Still shaken up about it, I guess. Still trying to register it all." 

This, of course, is an understatement. The gruesome scene follows her into the realm of dreams: her partner, the fox she was once willing to call the love of her life, dying in a dark alleyway somewhere off of 103rd, bloodying the snow. The wound in his abdomen carved by her own bullet.

Bonnie nods understandingly. "Of course, honey. You want me to make you some pie?" 

"No thank you," she responds, though her belly feels like a cave. "I think I'll just stop over at Gid's place. He always knows what I'm hungry for." 

The next morning, Judy awakens in Gideon's bed, her clothes on the living room floor, the conversations and activities of the night before an unintelligible blur. He has made her blueberry muffins and scrambled eggs with cheese for breakfast. She feels sickened with herself. She downs every bite. 

\- - - 

"You sure you doing okay, Jude?" 

"I'm doing fine, Dad."

(Who am I convincing?)

\- - - 

"He talked a lot about what happened when he was a kid, I guess. After the whole service-rangers thing, he kinda started straying farther and farther away from the 9-to-5 life his mom wanted him to have. He got into crime, theft, shady business deals, brothels. You know." Judy takes a sip of her coffee and lets the steam envelop her face in heat. "We found out what he was after once we raided his apartment after his death." 

"What was it?" Bonnie doesn't realize the effects of her words, Judy knows, so she swallows the surge of anger and answers. 

"He had a list of all the names of those Service Rangers kids on his desk. Half the names were crossed out." _Andy Hornsburg. Jock Clawson. Travis Grimstone_. Ten of them in total, three having disappeared without a single trace. The names that haunted Judy and stabbed painfully at her insecurity— even the best in the force couldn't find their whereabouts or console the ten families, wild with grief and uncertainty. 

The crossed-out names and the precision of the lettering on his gravestone tell her the same thing, the glaring thing that she doesn't want to hear: He was a better criminal than anyone gave him credit for. Better even than the most illustrious crime-bosses in the city. 

He was a better criminal than she was a cop.

\- - - 

The two weeks go by at once like an eternity and like the blink of an eye. 

Her parents cry again, all 275 of her siblings crowding the train station, just like the first day when they gave her the fox repellent. The train speeds off in a hurry, as well, and though nearly every detail of the world around her reflects that perfect day (the sun is shining, 'Try Everything' blasts over the loudspeaker, she runs to the upstairs area and is glad to find it empty), she finds herself unable to inspire a sense of wonder within herself; only dread. She does not gasp at the skyline, does not jump on the dusty bed of her 11th-floor apartment, does not report for duty with a smile. Her alarm blares a song that is now ruined for her at 6 AM sharp, and she no longer hops eagerly up. She hits snooze and stares at the ceiling lifelessly until even the neighbors wake up and chastise her for it. 

Bogo's already there in his office, waiting for her, looking annoyed but nonetheless sympathetic. "You missed the briefing, Hopps." 

At this, she only nods and feigns an apologetic expression. "Sorry, sir."

He nods, understanding. "You are excused." Out comes her badge and her gun, and his hand lingers before picking them up. His face grows serious with patronly concern, and he looks her in the eyes with the most genuine expression she's ever seen from him. "A word of advice, Hopps: Don't be like him. Don't let this get the best of you."

She nods solemnly. "I promise, sir." 

"Good. Now—" he picks up her belongings and holds them to her with an outstretched hand— "Ready to make the world a better place?" 

Judy smiles a half-hearted smile and sees nothing but the wounded betrayal in Nick's eyes. Apathetic, but well-intoned: "I was born ready."


End file.
